


The End

by munchmulch



Series: the beginning, the middle, the end [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Warlock Dowling, Aziraphale Whump (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Aziraphale is a Mess (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Warlock Dowling, Gaslighting, Gen, Heaven is Terrible (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Spouses, Intrusive Thoughts, Multi, Other, Panic Attacks, The Dowlings' A+ Parenting (Good Omens), They/Them Pronouns for Aziraphale (Good Omens), They/Them Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), They/Them Pronouns for Warlock, gratuitous cuddling, some thoughts of violence towards a child, still a bit of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:14:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25078969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/munchmulch/pseuds/munchmulch
Summary: "Oh don't justlaughat me!”Crowley does not stop laughing, Crowley is actively sinking to the ground getting mud in their skirts with the force in which they are laughing at Aziraphale.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley & Warlock Dowling, Aziraphale & Warlock Dowling, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Warlock Dowling
Series: the beginning, the middle, the end [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1741432
Comments: 17
Kudos: 112





	The End

Aziraphale has raised a few children over the eons. Not all that often, but one does not live on earth for almost 6,000 years without stumbling into parenthood every now and then. 

It remains, then, a mystery as to why Aziraphale is so _bad_ with them.

"Oh don't just _laugh_ at me!”

Crowley does not stop laughing, Crowley is actively sinking to the ground getting mud in their skirts with the force in which they are laughing at Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale, waist deep in mud, scowls at them impatiently. 

Crowley wheezes. “Y-You, it’s not even a proper pitfall trap! Warlock only pulled it off because you keep on forgetting that you’re not supposed to be able to walk on water!” 

Aziraphale throws their hands into the air, exasperated. “I thought they were injured!” 

Crowley starts palming tears from their eyes, gasping. “O-Oh, of course, of course, just like they've been injured every day this week. Right after casually edging around the nearest pond or mud puddle.”

Aziraphale splutters. Pauses to consider Crowley’s point, and splutters again. “Well! Well, I mean, it’s not as if I can just ignore . . .” They trail off, embarrassed. 

Crowley is still grinning at them, skirts now thoroughly ruined. Seeming to realize something, they gasp and point at Aziraphale. “Now you’re the one who has to give them the _‘it’s not safe to fake being hurt’_ talk! I always hate that one.” 

Aziraphale sighs. “Oh, just pull me out already you daft demon.”

\--

'Brother Francis' has a small cottage at the edge of the Dowling estate. By the time they squelch back to it together Warlock is waiting for them on the porch, smirking. 

Aziraphale glares at the boy, crossing their arms grumpily. Crowley remains completely unhelpful, taking one look at the child and dissolving into cackles. 

Warlock winks at Crowley. 

Aziraphale, who’s disgruntlement had mostly been an affectation up to this point, feels a stab of something uncertain. Being muddily inconvenienced by one person has an element of humor to it, but Warlock and Crowley teaming up to make Aziraphale uncomfortable feels different. 

Aziraphale finds their glare drooping to the ground. “I am going to go take a shower.” That came out smaller than intended and their nose crinkles in distaste. Showing insecurity in response to things children do tends to be unhelpful at best, and manipulative at worst. Shaking it off they redirect their glare at Warlock. “And _then_ we will have a _talk._ ” 

Warlock’s, who's smirk had flickered for a moment before Aziraphale’s stern voice returned, rolls their eyes. “Whatever, bro.” 

Warlock is in a _mood_ then. The child is almost nine which is the age all of the pre-teen nonsense tends to start. 

Aziraphale huffs indignantly and stomps inside, speed walking to the bathroom as soon as they get past the door.

Once in the bathroom they inspect their muddy clothes and grumpily consider whether to miracle themself clean, or to actually take a shower.1

Eventually they decide on a shower, at the very least to distract from the curl of unease. It's silly, it's just Crowley and Warlock stirring up trouble, Aziraphale is being rather ridiculous. 

Disrobing they carefully ease back into their original corporation's shape. 

Aziraphale actually quite likes the persona of Brother Francis. They've spent the last two-hundred years as an antagonistic bookseller and a few centuries before that hopping between various high class personas.

Groundskeeping, once they'd become accustomed to it2, is simple and exhausting. As long as they immerse themself in the more physically taxing element of it3 they don't have the energy to spiral into a meltdown. It's a more grounding form of escapism than keeping their nose in a book.

And, while Brother Frances does attract significantly more condescension and pointed comments than Aziraphale the bookseller, the servants and security personnel who _are_ drawn to talk to them tend to be of a better quality of people than most. 

For the first time in quite a while, Aziraphale finds themself with human friends. 

Closing their eyes against the water Aziraphale takes a deep breath, carefully directing their thoughts to good things. 

1 - In a few hours they'll take a break and bother the cook. They'll weedle some fresh buns and gossip about the newest visiting nobs, or Crowley's series of increasingly ridiculous hairstyles. 

2 - Shelby, one of the security guards who'd taken the job in a _'I applied for anything available and this is what I got'_ way, instead of the normal _'I have a very American passion for guns and violence'_ way, has asked Aziraphale to show him how to transplant bushes without killing them. This request is the newest in a list of excuses the young man has used in order to help with a job that he worries must be quite demanding on someone who looks like they're in their sixties. 

3 - Last week Warlock had proudly presented Aziraphale with a first edition of a Ursula LeGuin novel that they'd enjoyed and wanted to share. Crowley had helped track down the copy. 

Aziraphale crushes the panic over what will happen to them all if the Apocalypse does come, taking a final deep breath and allowing the kinder thoughts to calm them. 

Warlock and Crowley are still on the porch by the time Aziraphale is ready to puff themself back up and stomp outside. 

Warlock is leaning against the rail, body language and expression as smug as ever. Crowley, lying lazily back against the steps, shoots Aziraphale a much softer smile than the smirk they've been sporting since Aziraphale got stuck in the mud. 

Aziraphale fussily flicks a hand at the demon. "Shoo! Shoo! Go take your own shower. The punishment for your cruelty shall be being forced to change into very large clothes which do not complement your aesthetic." 

Crowley pulls a face but rolls to their feet anyway. "Cruel. Very cruel. Good luck with the hellspawn." Shooting a sharp grin at Warlock they slink inside. 

Once Crowley's gone Aziraphale releases the affected irritation, examining Warlock calmly for a long moment. 

Warlock scowls and crosses their arms. "What? I'm sorry you got stuck in a mud puddle, alright?" 

Aziraphale sighs. "Warlock. Do you understand why I am upset with you right now?" 

Warlock groans but Aziraphale can tell that the serious tone is making the child uncomfortable, their mouth twitching down. "Because you messed up your ugly shoes in the mud? I don't know, I'm not a mind reader." 

"No." Aziraphale's voice is firm but not angry. This is far from the first time they've had to have this conversation, though it is the first time with Warlock. "And I am sorry that I did not make this boundary very clear the first time it happened. Warlock, you absolutely can not pretend to be injured when you are not." 

Warlock tenses, shoulders hunching as their glare slides away from Aziraphale's face. "It's not a big deal."

Aziraphale keeps their hands still and their eyes direct.4 "When Ashtoreth or I are with you our priority is to keep you safe. If you are pretending to be in danger you are creating an unsafe situation. Both for us, who will disregard normal precautions in order to assist you, and for yourself. If you are calling for help we can not be hesitating because we think you are being dishonest, not even for a split second."

Warlock is looking completely away from Aziraphale now, fury twisted across their face, eyes brimming with tears. "No one really cares about that! You're the only one being stupid!" Redirecting their gaze to Aziraphale they bare their teeth. "And _Nanny Ash_ can tell when I'm faking it!" 

Aziraphale meets Warlock's glare calmly. "But I can not." 

Warlock hisses, a noise that sounds very much like an upset snake, and changes track. "It's not fair! I wouldn't have to do any of this stupid shit if you would just tell me what you _are!"_

So that's what the child is truly upset about. Sighing, posture deflating, Aziraphale goes to sit on the steps, patting the spot beside them. "Come here, dear."

Wiping angry tears from their eyes, Warlock does. To Aziraphale's surprise the child leans up against their side, allowing Aziraphale to put an arm around them. It’s a bit like cuddling an angry cat. 

"My dear, you are not stupid. As much as Ashtoreth and I may attempt subtlety, we have never been particularly good at it. You spend much too much time with us not to notice anything." 

Warlock cuts in quickly. "So are you going to -" 

"However." Aziraphale interrupts softly. "However, and please, my dear, understand that this is not at all indicative of a lack of trust in you. Giving you more information directly--telling you what we are or why we are here, would be incredibly dangerous for both me and Ashtoreth." Aziraphale runs their fingers through Warlock's hair, wishing they could either be more honest or that they could explain this in a way that’s less scary. "The same goes for you telling people of our oddities, though I believe that few would believe you in any case.” Aziraphale fights to keep their voice even. “The same also goes, unfortunately, for others being aware that Ashtoreth and I care for each other." 

Aziraphale and Crowley stage rather public fights while away from Warlock. More out of concern for anyone sent to check in from Hell than Heaven. 

Aziraphale kisses the top of Warlock's head. "And I honestly, truly, can not tell you why. I am incredibly sorry." 

Warlock is silent for a long moment, and then, in a small voice. "Francis? Are you in trouble?" 

Aziraphale sighs, rocking Warlock back and forth gently. "Not for now, my dear. Not quite yet." 

\--

Crowley and Warlock head back to the main house, Crowley looking predictably ridiculous in a pair of Aziraphale’s overalls and vest. Warlock clings to Crowley, a hint of fear in their expression that makes Aziraphale's heart clench. 

When the angel is sure that they’ve safely made it back to the house Aziraphale goes to the bathroom, turns the lock, and proceeds to lose their absolute shit. 

It’s fairly expected all things considered. There are things that Aziraphale can handle in the moment which leave them rather shaken afterwards. Some sort of manufacturing error. 

Panic churns in their gut and they jam themself into the nearest corner. They scramble to log the physical sensations, pounding heartbeat, short breath, sweat beading at their armpits, trembling hands. 

Squeezing their eyes shut they choke on a sob, rocking to try and get themself under control. 

It's fine. It's fine. Just, just a lot of emotions with that interaction. A simple conversation that needed to be had. It went perfectly fine. 

Biting nervously at a hand they replay the interaction on loop, trying to sort out which emotions go where. 

1\. Fear over the end of the world and what all rides on Warlock being raised well. 

2\. Guilt that the potential end of the world is such an important factor in raising the child. 

3\. The desperate wish that Warlock's safety was genuinely the most important thing to Aziraphale and Crowley in raising them. 

4\. Blinding rage at Warlock's human parents and the damage that they've done. Damage that will stay with Warlock even if the child grows to adulthood. 

5\. Fear, just overwhelming, directionless fear. 

Aziraphale doesn't know how long it takes before they're able to stumble out of the bathroom and miracle the blotchiness from their face. They don't end up working on the portion of the grounds that they were planning to, finding somewhere less populated, where they can productively tear things apart. 

They don't tell Crowley about the conversation, the clearheadedness they felt during the actual interaction dissolving into uncertainty and fear. 

They're afraid Crowley will tell them they did the wrong thing. 

***

Aziraphale is bad with kids. It's almost a universal constant, anywhere in any universe. If you're referring to children as a whole, Aziraphale can't interact with them to save their life. 

Aziraphale is, however, good at raising them. On an individual scale. The angel has a good amount of experience, and most kids who spend enough time around them end up picking up on their very sincerely kind intentions. 

Crowley, the one who is genuinely and unquestionably good with kids, both as a parent and as a whole, tries to muster up some jealousy when their own dramatic complaints on the gardener's pest policies prompt Warlock to kick them in the shin and run off to hang out with the angel instead. 

Instead, they take a moment to grin at the pair. Watching Aziraphale's familiar confused fondness while interacting with kids juxtaposed with Warlock's confidence in ordering the angel away from work so the kid can teach the angel how to make grass flutes. 

Crowley wishes it could be as simple as this. 

Raising a child is familiar, the emotions associated with it are familiar. It's never been this hard, or this complicated. 

Crowley loves Warlock. Aziraphale loves Warlock. If Warlock chooses to fulfill their role as the antichrist, preventing the end of the world by ensuring that there is no more Warlock is something that will need to become a very real consideration. 

Crowley has never even entertained the thought of hurting one of their kids, the idea that they _would_ ever consider it is really _fucking_ horrifying. 

But the idea is nipping at their heels now, ping-ponging them between feeling incredibly sick, horrified, and sad. 

They know that Aziraphale probably hasn't thought about it yet. The angel has always been good at repressing horrible realities.

The thought of the world ending haunts Crowley. Images of war and fire, of being forced into the role of a soldier, facing Aziraphale on the battlefield. Despite both of their active involvement in human wars, Crowley knows that neither of them have the stomach to make it out of this one. 

But that's like a terrifying storm cloud just over the horizon. Scary, but not quite real yet. 

The images of Warlock's death are a very intimate, personal nightmare. 

Images of Crowley putting a pillow over the kid's mouth while they're asleep, pressing down until the child stops struggling and falls limp. Lunging while their back is turned, sinking poisoned fangs somewhere soft and vulnerable, the taste of blood in their mouth and Warlock’s high pitched wail in their ears. Giving them a little push as they lean over a railing, Crowley wouldn’t even have to watch, just a few seconds of terror and a thwack somewhere very far below. 

Aziraphale doing it, right now, when the kid’s shoving a piece of grass into the angel's mouth. Aziraphale picking up their gardening trowel, stabbing Warlock in the stomach, watching them bleed out. 

Crowley rubs the bridge of their nose, wipes their eyes under the glasses. 

Starts making their way over to stage an apology to Aziraphale and repent for the grave sin of insulting slugs. 

\--

Both Warlock and Crowley consider the time spent on the grounds and Aziraphale's cottage somewhat of a reprieve from the house. 

It's . . . pristine, cold. The main parts of the house look like a magazine, a place where a child making a mess is considered an act of disrespect instead of just one of the many things that kids do. 

Those are the spaces that Harriet and Thaddeus live, hosting politicians and diplomats as servants clean up their messes. 

When Harriet's the only one home she's uninterested in Warlock and Crowley occupying those spaces. When Thaddeus is home she pulls Warlock into them. To flaunt them, _”oh just look at what the new tutor taught him! Oh show your dad, honey.”_ or use them for petty revenge _”Well if you want him to act like a man maybe you should spend more time at home! It's not like he's ever had a real male role model around.”_

When the fighting starts is when Warlock can quietly slip away, back to Crowley. 

So that's not where Warlock thrives. 

Warlock lives in the kitchens, in the servants’ quarters, the gardens. The Warlock away from their parents is taught to cook and clean and play.

When Harriet is given a crisp schedule of elite classes and tutors it's not completely fraudulent. Warlock is in fact learning violin, football, and art5 along with the normal school stuff that Crowley tutors them in.

Violin is learned at the local Primary, excited kids learning to play hot cross buns and giving an awkward but sincere performance at the end of the year that has Crowley wolf-whistling and Aziraphale sobbing because _"They've just been working so hard, Crowley!”_

Football is with a local co-ed team sponsored by a pizza parlor. They lose most of their games but they still learn the excitement of it. Crowley has to sub in as an assistant coach when there aren't enough adults and takes it with good humor when sixteen odd kids make fun of them for not understanding the rules. 

Warlock jumps around different art classes - from the screaming chaos of after school programs, to the quiet chatter of adult knitting clubs, to pictures made from pressed flowers and leaves pieced together on Aziraphale's floor. 

For Harriet and Thaddeus, Warlock can play a shaky Amazing Grace that satisfies them well enough, can sub in for a snobby rich kid team if Thaddeus ever wants to watch one, and art - well. Warlock's art isn't in the main house. Its clumsy clay pots and cups in the kitchen cabinets. It’s taped to the cottage’s walls. It's in servants’ rooms, in their homes.

From Harriet and Thaddeus Warlock learns a whining, biting bitterness. How to sit through uncomfortable grown up parties and birthdays where they don't know any of the kids who show up. 

In Warlock's real life they learn to be a whiny, headstrong, vibrant child - who is just starting to learn how to be a bit of a good person. 

Crowley can only hope it will be enough. 

***

Excluding bookshelves, Brother Francis' cottage contains all of two pieces of furniture, an armchair, and a couch long enough for Crowley to sprawl across. 

A few weeks after Warlock's ninth birthday Aziraphale returns from work to find Crowley slumped on that couch, a sleeping Warlock clinging to them. 

Warlock's clothes are muddy, their eyes a puffy red from crying. 

Crowley looks tired, and the smile they shoot Aziraphale when the angel tiptoes over to the armchair doesn't reach their eyes. 

Aziraphale isn't sure how to ask the obvious so they wait for Crowley to offer an explanation, raising their eyebrows at the demon. 

Crowley is silent for a long moment and then in a low voice, "They tried to run away." 

"Ah." Aziraphale is . . . not overly surprised. Upset, but not surprised. 

The fact that Thaddeus and Harriet Dowling should never have had a child and have had little to no hand in actually raising Warlock does not mean that Warlock isn't very emotionally affected by the pair. 

With Thaddeus home for the next few months, and Warlock's tentative excitement over seeing the man crushed under the disappointment of Thaddeus's disinterest, well. 

Crowley's mouth twitches down and they use their one free hand to take off their glasses and rub at the bridge of their nose. "I wish we could just kidnap them." 

Aziraphale huffs sadly. "I don't think either of our sides would like that." 

Crowley groans. "I did ask. Was all _wouldn't it be better if they were raised by a proper demon instead of some squishy humans_ , then Beelzebub started talking about sending up Mammon to do the job so I backtracked."

"Ah." Aziraphale considered for a moment. "Damn." 

Crowley muffles a snort with their hand so as to not wake Warlock. 

Aziraphale reaches forward to brush the hair out of Warlock's face and squeezes one of Crowley's knees as they retract their hand. "Well. Something to look forward to if we're all in one piece in two years." Aziraphale gives Crowley a wobbly smile, there are so many reasons why what they're about to say next won't turn out the way they wish it would. "I've been looking at listings for cottages." 

Even if the world stays in one piece, even if Crowley isn't blamed for it if it does, only one of them will be able to raise Warlock away from this place. 

\--

6It's a bit odd that they're recalled on the same day, four months before Warlock's 11th birthday. A coincidence, surely. Or some sign of Warlock's development that their respective head offices didn’t feel the need to dispense. Nothing that smells of fish.6

"But won't, ah, you see it's just, the child has gotten rather attached to me is all." Aziraphale clenches their hands behind their back. "If they're still a bit u-upset about me resigning from my position wouldn't they be, that is, wouldn't they be more likely to be . . . destructive?" 

Gabriel rolls his eyes before pasting an indulgent smile to his face. "Aziraphale! I thought we'd been over this already? The point of your little experiment isn't to avoid war, it's to give the child some godly influence, which you've already done! Good job!" 

Aziraphale tries to keep their breathing even, panic churning in their gut. "O-Oh, I mean of course. But if-if um, if Warlock is calmer on, on the day, wouldn't they be more likely to refrain from the whole humanity’s destruction part of Armageddon?" Aziraphale tries to smile. "I mean, I'm sure that part isn't strictly necessary? Humans have had wars before without going extinct." 

Gabriel laughs. "Your angelic mercy really is admirable, buddy. There’s nothing to fret about! The good ones will end up here anyway. I guess it'll all be a bit of an inconvenience for them but it's a trivial thing to be worried about, isn't it?" 

Aziraphale opens their mouth, closes it. They feel dizzy looking at Gabriel's face, which is quickly turning from indulgent to exasperated. “The good ones?”

Gabriel waves his hand dismissively. “You know. The ones She decides to forgive, the believers. The correct ones, anyway.” He raises an eyebrow. "If that's all, I _do_ have other appointments to get to." 

Aziraphale nods and stumbles out of the office. 

***

"We're leaving!" 

Warlock stares at Crowley, eyebrows drawn together in confusion.

Crowley rushes on. "It's not as bad as it sounds! It's just for a-a few months? Ur, maybe a year or so, depends." 

Crowley can see the moment Warlock processes the words, eyes widening in horror. "Wait, I’m not coming with you?" 

Aziraphale and Crowley exchange a look, guilt etched into both of their faces. 

Crowley bites their lip, looking away, and Aziraphale takes over. "It's not that we don't want that! But if you were to come along it would put us in a spot of trouble, I'm afraid." 

Warlock looks desperate now, gripping the arms of Aziraphale's armchair. "Why? Because of my parents? They wont even notice! You could say it's for homeschool or something! An educational trip." 

Asking Warlock to sit across from them had been a mistake. All Crowley wants to do right now is to cling to the child and never let go. 

Aziraphale coughs. "Not because of Harriet and Thaddeus, no." 

Tears are brimming in Warlock's eyes. When Warlock is angry at their parents or the world they'll come to Crowley and Aziraphale, to cry and rant without shame. When they're mad at Aziraphale and Crowley they're just mad, no other place to vent those emotions other than their sketchbooks and social media. 

Warlock rises halfway from the chair. "Then why?!" 

Crowley wants to speak but can't find the words, garbling out some syllables that don't clarify much of anything. 

Aziraphale takes a deep breath, visibly forcing their hands to still. "We can't tell you, love." 

Warlock's face flashes with a fury that is quickly replaced by fear. They stare, frozen, at Aziraphale. Eventually they open their mouth again, tears starting to slide down their face. "Are you going to be ok?" 

Crowley hisses, hands flicking forward on hugging instinct. “Gnnnk, yeah! Yeah, you know, probably.” 

Aziraphale gives Warlock a wobbly smile. "I am sure that we will be just fine, it is kind of you to worry." 

If anything, Warlock looks more scared. 

Crowley sighs, removing their glasses to rub at their eyes, before opening their arms in a clear invitation which Warlock hesitantly accepts, squeezing in between Crowley and Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale and Warlock both look unbearably upset and Crowley wraps their arms around the kid, snagging a bit of Aziraphale's shirt to hang onto. 

Eventually Crowley speaks, voice cracked. "Sorry, hellspawn. It gets worse." 

\--

They have three days before they're officially off the assignment. Three days to disenroll Warlock from all of their programs and classes, and to try and find the least objectionable tutors possible and have said tutors halfway convinced that they've been working for the Dowlings for years. 

Three days of trying to say goodbye to a child who is increasingly confused, angry, and scared. 

In a bout of jittery anxiety Crowley purchases fifty prepaid cell-phones and creates a hidden panel in Warlock's room to store them in. 

"Change phones once a month, texting only -- unless it's an emergency. Come up with some ridiculous nicknames for us, most of them aren't _great_ with tech but they've still got a few savvy -" 

"Most of who?" Warlock looks the most relaxed they have since they got the news, a hint of mischief back in their smirk. 

Crowley emits a crackly gargle and redirects. "Just, this sucks, but try to stick it out? Things are going to turn out alright." 

\--

"Wrong boy." 

Crowley can feel something wild thrumming in their chest. "Wrong boy." Pressing a palm to their forehead they recognize a part of the feeling as relief. "Thank fucking God." 

Aziraphale sounds distant, thoughtful. "Is a demon thanking God a form of blasphemy?" 

Crowley frowns, blinking moisture from their eyes. "Maybe the satanic equivalent? Bit tactless, actually." 

Aziraphale hums. "Warlock is human, and you just lost a powerful ally when Hell realizes that you've buggered it all up." 

Crowley snorts. "Bit of a rude way to put that. My money, it was the nuns." They shrug. "That's what I'll tell Beelzebub, anyway." 

Aziraphale's shoulders relax a fraction. "Oh, oh good. Let's try and find the real one then." 

***

It's not, it's not that heaven doesn't care. It's not. It's just that Aziraphale hasn't found the right way to explain it yet. 

Or maybe, maybe Aziraphale doesn't quite understand their supervisor's explanations yet. Aziraphale's perspective is certainly clouded, living on earth this whole time. Human deaths, well, sometimes they're a necessary evil, in the name of the great plan. It's not that heaven _doesn't care._ Aziraphale cares too much is all, has been here too long, seen too much blood and grief and devastation. 

For all of Crowley's kind intentions, the demon can't fix this (and if Crowley runs away to the stars, that's ok isn't it? Just in case. _Just in case._ ) Neither of them can. 

If Aziraphale can just say the right things, reach the right angels, _heaven will fix this._

\--

"It burned down, remember?" 

Aziraphale blinks very slowly. Did they know that? Yes. Crowley told them, sounding drunk and devastated while Aziraphale floated somewhere just outside of reality. 

Aziraphale feels a bit outside of reality right now, actually. Maybe they are, maybe they left pieces of themself in dear Ms. Tracy and now they're just scattered scraps of a whole. 

Crowley takes a swig from the bottle, eyes soft and concerned. "You can stay at my place, if you like." 

Aziraphale floats a little higher. "I don't think my side would like that." Even as the words fall out of their mouth they note all the ways that they don't make sense, the cruelty of them.

They expect anger from Crowley. After all of the ways Aziraphale has done their best to hurt them in these last few days. After Aziraphale just placed another division between them, even now. 

All Crowley does is reach over, linking their fingers with Aziraphale's numb ones. "It's just us now. Always has been in some ways, our side." 

Aziraphale stares at their linked hands and then nods. They let Crowley lead them into the bus when it comes, pulling the demon to lay across their lap when they sit down together.

The bus trundles along in silence for a while, until Aziraphale's foggy brain dregs up a realization. "You know, it's very human." 

"Hmmm?" Crowley sounds half asleep, looks positively wrecked. Could probably use a bath, a nice cup of tea, and a year of sleep. 

Aziraphale's words are slow, more floating out of their mouth than appearing in any thought out fashion. "Not knowing what will happen to us when we die. I mean, we know what happens to humans, but for them it's a mystery, just as it's a mystery to us." 

Crowley brinks, brow briefly furrowing before exhaustion smoothes their face again and they give Aziraphale's hand a little squeeze. 

Aziraphale takes a moment to stare hazily into space. "Do you think we have souls?" They focus on Crowley's face, still feeling confused and disconnected. "I mean, we don't end up in Heaven or Hell after death, we must not." 

Crowley's brow furrows again. "We do." It's stated as a fact, simple and sure. 

Aziraphale can feel their face pinching in confusion. "We do?" 

Crowley squeezes their hand, pressing into their lap. "We're just people, angel. All we are in the end, just people." 

Aziraphale nods, relieved. "Oh, oh that's alright then." 

\--

Aziraphale totters into Crowley's apartment, noting the small fizzes of what promises to be a rather spectacular meltdown and electing to ignore them in favor of this nice floaty feeling7 for a bit.

Aziraphale blinks at their surroundings. "I have absolutely nothing nice to say about any of this." 

Crowley cackles, a sound that’s half deranged half delighted. "Let's pop into bed then, most comfortable spot in here." 

Aziraphale nods like one of those kitschy little bobbleheads. Lying down sounds downright splendid at the moment. 

When they're lying in Crowley's bed, instinctually coming together in a tangle of limbs and clutching hands, Aziraphale comes to a rather pleasant realization. 

"Oh. I can listen to my Crowley voice now." 

Crowley opens their eyes, squinting at Aziraphale in bafflement. "Your what now?" 

Aziraphale starts to giggle and cuts it off when they realize that it's going to become something frantic. "My, my Crowley voice! The one that says not to kick babies, and to help the elderly across the street, and that perhaps Heaven is quite terrifying and generally horrid and I have been complicit in every atrocity they have committed!" 

Crowley blinks. Pauses. Blinks again. "Angel, did you name your _guilty conscience_ after me?"

Aziraphale does start giggling at that. They can't help themself, Crowley just looks so _horrified._

As predicted, the giggles soon dissolve into hysterical sobs and their collective tangle of limbs morphs into Crowley rocking Aziraphale back and forth, pressing the angel's face into their shoulder. "I know, I know angel. I know." 

Aziraphale clutches Crowley. This is infinitely better than finding a small isolated place to panic. The guilt of making Crowley put up with a meltdown, when the demon must be just as frightened as Aziraphale, is drowned out by the sheer comfort of their presence.

Once Aziraphale is mostly cried out, limp and calm in a way they almost never are after these little episodes, Crowley's wireless telephone pings. 

Crowley tenses and kisses Aziraphale's forehead before squirming into a position where they can wiggle their phone out of a pocket while still keeping as much contact with Aziraphale as possible. 

When they click the phone on they sigh in relief. "Sorry, thought it might be the apartment's wards. Rigged them up to text me if anyone's trying to get into the building." 

Aziraphale sniffs some snot back into their nose and rubs away the tears that haven't been soaked up by Crowley's soot covered jacket. "Oh, that's quite useful actually. Who is it?" 

Crowley grins and opens up the message to show Aziraphale.

SPAWN  
  
You will not _believe_ the day I just had  
  


Aziraphale blinks in surprise as more messages pop up from the bottom of the screen.

SPAWN  
  
So yeah, bunch of batshit stuff happened that a _ton_ of people don't fully remember but I do and I bet you do because you're _magic_ Ok ok, but listen, so we're on this stupid diplomatic trip, right? That for SOME REASON me and mom had to attend as like, a requirement, not even the normal 'hoo-hoo bring your family along, we can let our wives and kids play together as we talk business - like a bloody playdate but worse And the diplomat that meets us in the desert, oh yeah this meeting is in a desert for some reason? Life is already weird enough, that might as well happen. Anyway this dude looks So Fucked Up - he's wearing this wig that looks like moldy straw, and these clothes that have maybe never been washed, just fucked up in general and he starts actually yelling at me, right - like, picks the one kid in a group of grown ass adults and starts screaming about some dog that I was supposed to bring which, that's ridiculous right? but not as ridiculous as what happens next. so I was all like 'you actually smell like shit' well I didn't say shit because I was going to get in enough trouble as it was and this dude just starts throwing a complete _tantrum_ AND TURNS INTO A BUNCH OF MAGGOTS AND DISAPPEARS INTO THE GROUND Anyway that was the coolest, most traumatizing thing that has ever happened to me How was your apocalypse?  
  


Aziraphale stares at the phone and then snatches it from Crowley who is shaking with suppressed laughter.

Learning the interface as they go, Aziraphale carefully pokes out a message.

SPAWN  
  
My dear, please do not bring things such as body odor to attention in a group setting. If you are comfortable with mentioning it you can pull the person aside and inform them in private.  
  
HOW DID YOU GET EAGLE ONE'S PHONE?!?!?  
  
And listen. 1. The guy was actively yelling at a child. 2. The child was me. And 3. This was an ambassador which means that they're loaded and aren't like, someone off their meds who doesn't have access to resources to fix that situation  
  
if they'd been human anyway  
  


That is completely fair and Aziraphale's initial instinct to be the 'good' influence in Crowley and their little team is quickly contended with the realization that Aziraphale is no longer beholden to a side.

SPAWN  
  
Well, I am quite glad that you had fun and are uninjured! You are completely correct that that man's behavior was inappropriate and if I ever meet them I shall Shall give them a good kick in the bollocks. . . . . . . _Please_ actually be eagle 2, eagle 1 if you are playing a prank it is CRUEL, this is the best day in my LIFE Anyway we're landing so I gotta sign off, love you Both I and ‘Eagle 1’ love you very much as well. Stay safe.

Crowley snaches the phone back.

SPAWN  
  
(Sparkling Heart )(Sparkling Heart )(Sparkling Heart )(Sparkling Heart )(Sparkling Heart ) Not a day goes by that I don't regret teaching you about emojis.  
  


Crowley grins fondly at the phone before wiggling it back into their pocket and snaking their arm around Aziraphale. "We should get changed and have a nap. There's no way they're sending someone after us tonight, that would be bloody ridiculous."

"Knock on wood." Aziraphale mumbles, though they do reluctantly sit up. "Dear, I am in no way peppy enough for a miracle. You are basically twigs and skin, do you own anything that would fit me?" 

Crowley also struggles into a seated position. "I own absolutely no clothes." 

Aziraphale sighs. "Ridiculous." 

In silent agreement they both strip down to vests and pants before wiggling under the covers. Crowley turns their phone's volume to high and places it next to their head. 

\--

Aziraphale wakes up a few hours later and shakes Crowley awake.

Crowley squints at Aziraphale, betrayed. "Ghhgnk?" 

Neither Aziraphale's voice nor brain have fully returned from the fogginess of sleep, and the explanation of their sudden epiphany shows it. "Dear, dear, love. We're the babies." 

Crowley shakes their head in denial. "Nuh, nn, we're a bajillion years old." 

Aziraphale makes a dissatisfied noise at not being immediately understood. "Nnn, no see. They switched, and that made everything ok, because it was just, not where they were meant to be!"

Crowley squints some more, then closes their eyes to go back to sleep. 

Aziraphale shakes them again, determined. "I know how we can duck-shove this!" 

Crowley's eyes snap open. "You say these things just to hurt me. Duck-shove? _Why_ would you - just say wiggle out of! That's an appropriate aziraphalism isn't it?" 

***

Crowley has seen a lot of horrible things in their very long life. So it would be technically inaccurate to say that their little trip up to Heaven made them angrier than they've ever been. 

Nearly a week after the apocalypse and that is still awfully hard to remember.

With an unfortunate lack of archangels to set on fire, Crowley is spending the energy on vengeful real estate browsing. 

Crowley swings their legs off Aziraphale's lap to show them a listing. "What about this one, angel?"

Aziraphale looks up from their book to squint at Crowley's phone. "We are _not_ getting a property with a pool. It's terrible aesthetically, and I had quite enough of that nonsense when Warlock figured out I could walk on water." 

Crowley pouts. "They know better than to pretend that they're drowning this time! Very mature little hellspawn we have." 

Aziraphale sniffs. "None the less, it is a no." 

Sighing, Crowley goes back to scrolling. "We have to all agree on _something._ Warlock wants to move at the start of summer break." 

Aziraphale hums non-committedly. "I'm sure you'll find us something, dear." 

Crowley indignantly shoves a bare foot in Aziraphale's face. "Oh yeah, leave all the work to me! Your suffering spouse. Very nice. Very angelic." 

Aziraphale smirks and turns a page. "Oh, but dear, I don't have to be the nice one anymore, remember?" 

A second scaly foot presses into Aziraphale's face. 

*** 

“I don’t think it counted?”

Aziraphale is fairly used to Crowley starting a conversation half-way through a thought process so they simply hum and set aside their book for a moment to focus on running fingers through Crowley’s hair. “What counted, dear?” 

Crowley flails their hands in the air. “You know, before. Before, all this.” They gesture vaguely. 

Aziraphale frowns, trying to pick apart that thought. “Do you mean, the bookshop? Earth?” 

Crowley nods to the second one. “I mean, you remember what it was like. Being mostly, ngh, feelings and tentacles, lot of eyes.” 

Aziraphale frowns. “Well, we do still have those forms. Our spirits may not take those shapes anymore, but I can still see yours a little bit to the left of reality.” 

Crowley nods. “Yeah, yeah, but -” they twist their face up. “We had this one big event, one split of thought that really mattered, but other than that? How much did you _think_ about things before Earth? Did you think much about who was around you? Care about other beings as individuals?” 

Aziraphale tries to recall, those memories are very old and don’t really get along with a human brain but they do exist, in a sense. “You know, I don’t think I really thought about other angels much at all. We were all, well. We all had tasks we were supposed to accomplish. I think that the war was the first time I really thought about how the beings around me were like me instead of just . . . background.” What a bazaar thought, things had changed so much after the war. 

Crowley nods. “Yeah. Yeah I mean, even falling in with the Morningstar it didn’t feel . . .” Crowley paused, furrowing their brow at the ceiling. “Human, I guess. Even if the result was a social upheaval, I don’t think any of us really had much of a sense of ourselves or each other.” 

Aziraphale hums. “Even so, it was definitely something different from before.” They look down at Crowley, fingers digging to scratch at the demon’s scalp. “But I agree that it wasn’t human, and it certainly wasn't like any angels and demons are now.” 

Crowley closes their eyes at the touch, shoulders relaxing. “But I think - I think that’s why they’re so different from us, you know? It’s like ah, hmm. Adoption situation? Everyone started changing after the fall, growing into something else. But we were accidently raised human.” 

Aziraphale remembers when they first started working for Heaven in earnest, the disconnect between their understanding of the world and the priorities of their supervisors. Their own inability to understand what was being asked of them until they were pleading stupidity in order to have things spelled out in a way that made any sort of sense. 

“Ah yes I suppose . . . it was all Adam and Eve wasn’t it?” 

Crowley is silent for a minute. “And Cain and Abel.”

Aziraphale squeezes Crowley’s arm softly. “Yes. Of course Cain and Abel.” Aziraphale hasn’t thought about them in a long time but in a way they’re never quite not thinking about them, they're still such a large part of who Aziraphale is. “You know, I think I was drawn to Adam first. He was very . . . calm. Unflappable you might say.” 

Crowley snorts, but they’re listening. Eyes intent on Aziraphale. 

“Everyone was so angry in Heaven.” Nobody really stopped being angry in Heaven, but they think that had been the worst of it, even now. “There was so much noise and fear. I wanted to. To be . . . unnoticed I suppose? Overlooked. But I had to understand what was going on, understand what I was being ordered to do in order to avoid the terrifying thing that we’d just seen happen.” 

Crowley hums. “And then you were assigned to Earth.”

Aziraphale nods, smiling. “Oh yes, and then I was assigned to Earth. I started exploring the garden when I could, to distract me from all of these new unpleasant thoughts running amuck in my head. I met Adam and he was just so . . .so . . .” Aziraphale flaps their hands a bit, frustrated at not being sure how to express what they’re thinking. “He asked me to help him name things. I was so nervous that I would get it wrong and he’d be upset, but I don’t think it would have even occurred to him! That I could mess it up. He was so gentle. He told me that he liked the names I had chosen and thanked me very sincerely for my help.” 

Aziraphale sucks in a breath. “He made me feel . . .”

“Safe.” And Crowley’s voice is so soft. “I remember.” 

Aziraphale beams at Crowley, surprised to feel tears burning their eyes. “Oh, and then there were you and Eve! Do you know how bright you were? So interested in everything, bouncing off each other. You made everything seem so exciting! Made the world so much more beautiful in your fascination.” They laugh. “It felt like me and Adam were just following you sometimes, so utterly in love with the both of you.” 

Crowley sniffs, taking a moment to rub the moisture from their eyes. When they speak again their voice is husky. “For me it was Eve. Which, you know, obviously. Serpent, temptations, questions.” 

Aziraphale huffs another soft laugh. 

“But we talked for a while before that, lots of times actually. She kept on asking Adam questions, and he didn’t know any more than she did but he didn’t want to find out and _learn_ the same way she did." Crowley grins at Aziraphale. "But I did! I’d make myself human shaped and catch her alone, started asking her questions about herself, what it felt like to be human, what she thought about the garden, what the point of it all was. And she would try and answer! She asked me questions too! We'd spend days sharing everything we knew, and then trying our best to explore what we didn't.” Crowley’s smile turns sad. “I’d never had someone I could be so open with before. I told her what I knew about the apples, what I remembered about the tree’s creation from Before. I never meant to get them kicked out." Crowley huffs a laugh. "But she was never mad at me about it, blamed God more than anything else.” 

Aziraphale wrinkles their nose good naturedly. “Oh yes I do remember your rather animated, ah, I believe they’re called ‘bitchfests’?”

Crowley bursts into surprised laughter. “Oh, absolutely.” They take a moment to giggle. “And then there was you!” Crowley boops the tip of the angel’s nose. “You and Adam never really got angry, he was gentle and earnest, and you were scared.” Crowley looks far away, a sad fondness in their eyes. “You were so scared and you did everything you could to help. Found any loophole, any rationalization to angle things so you could do what you thought was right." Crowley throws their hands in the air. "You learned how to make tools, to use every part of an animal, make string. You read us so many of those damn pamphlets that I never wanted to see another one in my very long life! Clever bastard.” Crowley sighs. “You never said that Heaven was wrong for what they did, but we could all see the doubt in your eyes, that anything causing suffering could be good.” 

Aziraphale raises a hand to cover their mouth, squeezing their leaking eyes shut. This wasn’t something they’d been prepared to think about today, even as what should have been Armageddon started stabbing holes in the box storing all their doubts. “I didn’t want to think about it though! I-I, even at the very end I didn’t want to acknowledge it!” 

Crowley wiggles until they’re sitting up in Aziraphale’s lap and carefully wraps an arm around the angel’s shoulders, concern radiating from their expression. 

Aziraphale has to say it, they’ve never, never talked about this but they have to say it. “A-and, a-a-and, a-an -” Aziraphale could scream with the frustration of not being able to speak to explain the jumbled mess inside their head. Instead, they close their eyes and take several deep breaths, trying to focus on the action until they can speak again. 

Lowering their hand, they sigh. “I-It got so much worse, after the flood. I was so distraught, angry even! And afraid to be angry. I was sure that something must have gone wrong because She wouldn’t just do that for no reason! S-so when Gabriel explained, you have to understand, it seemed so reasonable.” They’re gasping now, voice speeding up, but they keep going. “That it w-was, that it was my fault. It was my job wasn’t it? Holding up the moral standard of humanity. So what could I say? I tried. If it was my fault couldn’t they send someone better? To save them from themselves, someone w-who wouldn’t be afraid of the hard choices that needed to be made?" Aziraphale's hands tighten into fists. "Choices to-to help spread faith and-and bloody . . . Goodness! Based on whatever the definition of Good was convenient at the time.” Aziraphale is sobbing now, rocking back and forth. 

Crowley has gone pale, clutching the angel and shaking their head. “It wasn’t your fault, how could that be your fault, angel?” 

Aziraphale just cries, until they’re slumped against Crowley, hands covering their face. Then in a whisper, as if they’re telling a secret, “I think part of me knew that. That even if I wasn’t good at being an angel, I wasn’t the one drowning them. That the people who died weren't any more evil than any other group of humans. Me messing up a few blessings shouldn’t have doomed them like that.” Aziraphale presses against Crowley, a hand reaching forward to clutch at the demon’s shirt. “But that would have been worse. It not being my fault was worse, Crowley.” 

Crowley scrabbles at the angel, trying to pull them closer together even though they’re already pressed as close as they can get. “How? How could that be worse?” 

Aziraphale sobs. “B-because it means, it means I didn’t have any control over any of it, did I? I j-just, if it was my fault then I could prevent it! If I was just as good as possible, if I was perfect and went to them for help when I was starting to doubt, then it wouldn't happen again! B-but I don’t, oh God, none of it mattered did it?” 

Crowley starts rocking the angel, shaking. “No. No, I don’t think it did.” 

***

It takes a while for Aziraphale to stop crying. They seem calmer when they do, still clamped to Crowley like a vice. 

Eventually Crowley nudges Aziraphale's arms open so they can stand up and pull the angel with them. 

Aziraphale squints at the demon in dissatisfied confusion, expression a millimeter away from crumbling again. 

Squeezing Aziraphale's hand and kissing one of their cheeks Crowley pulls them to the bookshop's small kitchen and starts making tea one-handed, keeping their other hand in the angel’s. 

Aziraphale's gaze seems very far away but they frown at the tea Crowley's chosen. "Camomile?" 

Crowley hums. "Yeah." And then when Aziraphale just stares at them blankly. "We're going to drink it, and then we're going to bed." Crowley snaps and suddenly a bed which normally lives in a flat in Mayfair finds itself in the middle of a cluttered bookshop. 

Aziraphale hums in acceptance and leans into Crowley a bit, pressing their face into the demon's shoulder. 

Crowley leans back, giving into the impulse to run fingers through the angel's hair. "We can talk more in bed, about tough things or happier things. Or we can sleep, we have time now. For whatever we want." 

Aziraphale doesn't start sobbing again but Crowley can feel a damp spot start to soak through their shirt. They finish the tea quietly, urge the angel to drink some, and then pull them to bed.

\--

Crowley wanders into the bookshop a week before they're set to move into the cottage. Crowley's flat is already empty but Aziraphale had decided to keep the shop, badgering the two witches from the Apocalypse to help collaborate in order to create a door that leads directly from the shop to the cottage and back again. 

Crowley can't sense the angel in the bookshop at the moment so they start heading to the back room to wait. 

Something catches their eye and Crowley finds themself frowning at a bookcase they've never seen before. 

Well, that's not true, it's been in the bookshop for ages. They definitely remember it as sort of a background fixture. But. Crowley knows the bookshop, they've spent as much time here as they could get away with since it opened. They know every book, at least by sight, and many by Aziraphale's excited ramblings.

These books have been here for ages, but they've never looked at them. 

Confused, Crowley eases one off the shelf to squint at. It's a beaten up paperback titled _'The Lady's Guide to Celestial Mechanics'_ and has a picture of two women in elaborate dresses embracing sensually on top of red silk sheets. 

Huh.

The rest of the books are a mix of cheap queer romances and nicer looking volumes that Crowley recognizes as being transcribed and bound by Aziraphale themself. 

Perplexed, Crowley starts wandering around to see if there are any more glaringly obvious objects that they've managed to miss. 

There are. A picture of them and Aziraphale that they remember posing for sometime in the 17th century. A whole shelf of books on herpetology with a few simple _'How To Care For Your Pet Snake'_ books thrown in. Little knick-knacks crammed onto shelves that are a mix of Crowley themed, queer themed, and stuff that Crowley recognizes as gifts from humans Aziraphale has known.

Eventually Crowley stops at the desk in the back, picking up a little wooden goat that they remember Adam carving for the angel. It’s been smoothed by age, but hasn’t disintegrated from it. 

In a way it makes sense that Aziraphale has all these things. The angel's always been a bit of a magpie, if it weren't for the magical element to Aziraphale's organization they'd probably have needed several interventions to discuss the dangers of hoarding. 

It still feels odd to see things from so long ago, little objects kept from different ages. All things that are in character for the angel to keep. 

Something fond nudges at the back of Crowley's mind, like something they’ve forgotten. Carefully, they set the toy down, turning their attention to a large filing cabinet that they've never noticed before. 

***

Aziraphale can always tell when Crowley is in the bookshop, like a piece clicked into place within the gentle hum of the wards. The angel hums along, pleased that they won't have to track the demon down, and trots to the back room. "Dear, are you sure you need the rats there for the nuptial ceremony? Only Tracy says that they might make Shadwell a tad paranoid." 

Crowley hums in acknowledgment. "Yeah, they have to come. It was in the contract." 

Aziraphale frowns. "Why was it . . ." they trail off as they register what Crowley's doing. 

The demon is sitting at the desk, glasses off, focused on a stack of pamphlets. 

Aziraphale's eyes flick to the filing cabinet and then back to Crowley. "Ah. I forgot that I had taken the glamour off those." 

The corners of the demon's mouth quirk up. "Lot more of these than you had in Eden. Cabinets miracled with quite a bit of extra space, almost like you've been nicking a few every time you report upstairs." 

Aziraphale huffs. _"Nicking._ Honestly. It's not stealing if they don't say you can't take them! They're pamphlets for goodness sake, why make them if you don't want them to be used?" 

A slow grin is spreading across Crowley's face as they flick open a pamphlet that Aziraphale recognizes as being from the corrosive substances department. "And the ones that say _'for employees eyes only'_?" 

Aziraphale stutters for a second. "W-well! I mean, I was technically an employee of Heaven. In a general sense." 

Crowley cackles, eyes crinkled and unbearably fond. And then softly, as if speaking to themself, as if in revelation. "You've always just been you, haven't you?" 

Aziraphale stares at Crowley, something between fondness and confusion duking it out in their corporation. Finally, fairly sure they're reading the mood correctly, they step forward to kiss the top of the demon's head, giving their hair a frustrated ruffle. "Honesty. Who else would I be?"

.  
.  
.

1\. Which they tend to avoid considering the narrowness and general griminess of said shower. [ ▲ ]

2\. And stopped needing to run to Crowley every five minutes to ask for help. [ ▲ ]

3\. And continue to stubbornly refuse to pick up 'sleeping' as a hobby. [ ▲ ]

4\. A feat that Aziraphale can manage for around five minutes if they try very hard and believe in themself. [ ▲ ]

5\. The violin and art are another one of Harriet's petty revenge schemes. [ ▲ ]

6\. Crowley voice: Smells of fish? Smells of - it _smells fishy,_ angel! Or, or you could just say 'nothing fishy'! I don't even - [ ▲ ]

7\. Well, ok. Not nice. Rather awful and frightening actually, but certainly preferable to reality at the moment. [ ▲ ]

**Author's Note:**

> *clutches head* Just figuring out how to do the [text bubbles](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6434845/chapters/14729722#workskin) took an extra week
> 
> Find me over at [munchmulch](https://munchmulch.tumblr.com/)


End file.
